Smoke and Mirrors
by Ryne42
Summary: An ongoing collection of short drabbles, featuring a variety of characters, genres, and ratings. Responses to the prompts on The Heart of Camelot website. #21 - An exploration of a moment in 4x01.
1. Chapter 1

**Characters/Pairings:** Arthur/Gwen  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 285  
**Prompt:** An Interesting Use for a Scarf  
**Disclaimer:** I don't own the characters or the show. In some of the legends, Arthur is given a son named Amr; I borrowed him for a little bit.

* * *

"Guinevere?"

Arthur poked his head into their bedroom and spotted his wife sitting by the window. "Guinevere, what are you doing here? I've been looking all over for you."

Gwen didn't look up from whatever she was doing in her lap. "Amr wanted a banner to carry around while he's pretending to campaign."

"So? I'll have one of the guards give him an old one."

That made her look round at him in exasperation. "Arthur, he's _five_. There's no way that he would be able to carry that, it's too big and the pole would be too heavy. Besides, banners are retired with honor; they shouldn't be a child's plaything. I promised him that I would make him one instead."

Arthur stood behind her, looking down over her shoulder to see the outline of a gold dragon stitched into a square of red cloth — familiar-looking red cloth, in fact. He looked closer.

"Is that one of Merlin's—?"

"Yes. Amr was upset when I told him that he couldn't have one of the banners that had been carried in battle... he must've gone to Merlin, because he came to me a few hours later with this. He seemed pleased about it. Merlin told him that this had seen far more combat than any banner found in Camelot."

"Well, he's right about that," Arthur murmured. "Dragons, gargoyles, bandits, witches, armies... Merlin should tell Amr all those stories. Maybe it'll keep him out from underfoot for an afternoon." He stared down at the familiar red square. "It's fitting, in a way. Now Merlin will be there for all of Amr's adventures, too." He leaned down and kissed the top of his wife's head. "Amr will _love_ it."


	2. Chapter 2

**Characters/Pairings:** Morgana, Morgause  
**Rating/Warning:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word count:** 360  
**Prompt:** A Different Perspective. The object of this challenge is to choose a character you dislike and write about them from a sympathetic point of view.  
**Notes:** Just something I've always wondered during this scene. Spoilers for 4x09. Also, I reference the scene between Morgana and Morgause from The Secret Sharer that was never released.

* * *

Morgana stood on the shore of the Lake of Nemhain, staring into its black waters as she traced the spirals on her sister's coin and wondered what had brought her here.

Why was she choosing Lancelot?

Her recent encounter with Emrys had left her shaken to the core and so near death that she knew only her sister's visit from the spirit world had saved her. Morgause had looked on her so lovingly when she had handed this coin over, and with it Morgana was able to make the journey back to the world of the living. Perhaps it was time for her to return the favor.

And it would be easy, so _easy_ to throw the coin into the lake and speak Morgause's name in the place of Lancelot's. Then she would have her sister back, the one person in the world who had known who she really was and loved her all the more for it; the one who had lent her strength, given her hope, and who had never led her astray. She would know what to do to help Morgana achieve her dreams - she _always_ knew. Even with her death she had tried to give Morgana a way to the throne; when that had failed, it had been so much more bitter because her sacrifice had been useless, and the world was so much colder for her absence.

Morgana missed her every day, with every breath and beat of her heart. What she had said to Merlin echoed in her ears — _just because I have no one left to be loyal to..._ If she spoke Morgause's name, she could have that back, and be happy once more.

And then she remembered that they were called Shades for a reason, and knew that that happiness would never be. She could never force that fate upon her sister. She couldn't bear to see her sister as a hollow shell, a manipulable little puppet who would always bow to her word. Morgause had been a force of nature; she could never be an echo.

Morgana waded into the water, tossed the coin in, and forced her thoughts to Lancelot.


	3. Chapter 3

**Characters/Pairings:** Tom/OC  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 355  
**Prompt:** The Chains That Bind Us  
**Notes: **First I was going to write about Gwaine, then Kilgarrah, and then this idea popped into my head and I decided to roll with it. It was difficult to come up with an ending, and it still seems a bit rushed to me. Ah well. Enjoy!

* * *

The order had been delivered to the forge at lunchtime, and Tom had agonized over it all day. Now he stood before his wife, watching her as she deciphered the ornate script, and tried to gauge her reaction.

"The money's good," she said finally, handing it back to him. Her expression was guarded.

"It is," Tom agreed, wringing his hands, and then everything came pouring out. "Elyan's growing fast, and with another one on the way... We could use that money. From the king himself, too! If I got his favor, we'd be... " He trailed off, and then gestured agitatedly. "But look at what he's _asking_ for! Shackles and chains, Maria... Those could only be for one purpose, and I don't know that I want to be a part of it." His hands tightened, and the paper crinkled between them. "Damn the magic ban," he said hoarsely, "they're our _neighbors_."

The words hung in the air, hushed and treasonous, and Maria glanced at the window before saying, "What will we do?"

"I don't know," he said honestly, dropping into the chair beside her and putting his head in his hands.

"Don't do it."

"I _have_ to, Maria. If I don't then there'll be questions as to why, and after the Felder girl last week you know that a question's as good as a conviction these days."

"We could run. We can leave this insanity far behind us, and go back to Longstead."

Tom laughed hollowly. "Maria, my sweet, I know you're always ready to go back to your village. But we wouldn't escape for long. Longstead wouldn't be a haven, Maria, sorcerers are being rounded up everywhere. It's not just in Camelot any longer, and if I set up shop in Longstead... soon enough I'd be making _their_ chains, for your Elsa and Ben and Rose..."

Maria paled, and whispered, "_No._"

"I have to do it, Maria," he said after a long silence. "I have to." And one day, he thought, he might even be able to convince himself that he had had no choice.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Choices  
**Characters/Pairings:** Gwen, Gaius  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 269  
**Summary:** Gwen reflects on Gaius' non-choice to leave in 1x06.  
**Notes:** No prompt for this one; it's a follow-up to #3 that came to me while I was brushing my teeth. I had changed the ending of the last drabble at the last minute, and it reminded me of one of Gwen's lines; I thought it would be an interesting lesson for Tom to learn, and then teach his children.

* * *

Gwen only turned to watch Gaius leave once. She had meant what she said; she _would_ miss him, and looking back at him wouldn't help. The old man had always been kind to her, from the first day that she started working for Morgana. Over the years they had even formed a friendship of sorts, bonding over dealing with Morgana's nightmares and finding a kindred spirit of sorts, and his forced retirement didn't sit well with her.

She did not trust this Edwin Muirden, and from her conversation with Gaius it was clear that he did not either. _Then why is he leaving?_ she wondered, missing him already. _It was his choice to leave,_ she told herself firmly, but that only made her feel even more hollow.

She had quoted her father at him earlier. It was a phrase that she had heard from birth - _In life you always have a choice. Sometimes it's easier to think that you don't._ He always said it so sadly, and one time she had asked him why. He told her that before she was born, he had been faced with a terrible situation, and had opted to take the easy route of pretending there was no other option. He had lived with the guilt ever since, he said, and she wished she could forget the terrible look in his eyes. He never told her what the choice had been.

She couldn't disappoint him now. Someone needed to get to the bottom of this, and she would do whatever it took to set things right.


	5. Chapter 5

**Characters/Pairings:** Arthur, Gaius, Uther  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 368  
**Prompt:** The Young Pendragon. Choose any character on the show and write about the very first time they ever met/encountered Arthur Pendragon.  
**Notes:** This was formerly the intro to the one-shot that I'm working on, but it fit so perfectly with the challenge that I decided to shift it over here.

* * *

Gaius held the little prince tightly as he left the queen's chamber, and Uther was on him in a second. "Well?" he asked eagerly, bounding forward from where he had been pacing a hole in the rug. Gaius looked at him mutely for a moment, taking in his shining face, and felt his heart shatter all over again, because despite all his battles Uther was still so young and so innocent, and Gaius knew that it wouldn't last.

"Congratulations, my friend," he said finally. "Your son and heir. The queen has named him Arthur."

"Arthur," Uther breathed, and held his arms out for his son. Gaius gently handed the little prince over. Uther held him as if he was made of glass, and looked at him as if he was the most precious thing in the world. "Arthur," he said again, sounding choked, and when he looked up at Gaius his eyes were shining. "My son. _Our_ son. After all our struggles... Where is Ygraine? May I see her now?"

Gaius faltered. "Sire," he began, but couldn't find the words. Uther was looking at him expectantly, though, so he forced himself to go on as gently as possible. "Sire... the queen... the queen is dead."

"...I'm sorry?" Uther said after a moment, and chuckled nervously when Gaius didn't amend himself. He looked at him uncertainly. "I'm sorry, I..."

"We tried everything, sire," Gaius said weakly, and horror began to dawn on Uther's face. "But... the bleeding wouldn't stop. I tried herbs, potions... Nimueh and Alice performed every spell possible, but... but there was no stopping it. We couldn't determine — and she just kept — we couldn't—"

Uther let out such a ghastly cry of loss that Gaius' very breath was stolen from him. He staggered slightly, and Gaius started forward, fearing that Uther would lose all sense and drop his precious son, but the king caught himself, and all Gaius could do was stand beside him awkwardly. "I'm... I'm sorry, sire," he offered quietly as he moved to put his hand on Uther's shoulder.

Uther twitched out of reach. "Leave me," he said numbly, turning away. "Go. Just — just go."

And Gaius, not knowing what else to do, went.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Sabotage  
**Characters/Pairings:** Gwaine, somewhat-OC  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** canon, slight AU  
**Word Count:** 342  
**Summary:** "If you want to do something fun, write about one of Gwaine's encounters with his evil old toad of a sister."  
**Notes:** A bribe for a friend on the Heart of Camelot — a drabble of her choosing in return for a favor. I'm calling it AU because I changed Gwaine's background to fit the legend, making him King Lot's son. I couldn't come up with anything where Gwaine actually hates his sister, so just assume that the incident that causes that is still in the future. xD

* * *

Lot's court had been buzzing with excitement in the week leading up to Sir Peredur's arrival. After all, it wasn't often that such a dashing young knight came to call, especially one who had expressed an interest in their very own Elaine. The women did nothing but talk about marriage arrangements, and his sister looked more and more pleased with every passing day.

And of course, Gwaine was entirely prepared to ruin it.

He had met Peredur once during a tournament, and had not come away impressed. While others crowed about Peredur's bravery and prowess, Gwaine had found him cruel and entirely too hung up on propriety and decorum. And if the whispers among the servants were to be believed — and Gwaine had found that they were the best source of gossip — he was an absolute terror to his household, especially the maids. Gwaine wanted nothing to do with such a man, and wanted his sister involved with him even less.

Of course, that didn't mean that Elaine would get off scot-free. No, he could do nothing to Peredur without causing a scandal, and besides, he had yet to get Elaine back for the incident with the donkey and the kitchen girl. And so while Elaine had been getting lectures over dinner about how she must be on her very best behavior, Gwaine was planning how best to make her look a fool in front of him.

Sneaking into her room the night before Peredur's arrival to carry out one of his plans, Gwaine listened to her peaceful breathing and almost felt a twinge of regret, though it soon passed. She would blame him, and hate him for it, but that was nothing new. She hated him for many things by now, some of them warranted, others not. It really was a pity that this would be one of the times she counted as warranted; after all, Gwaine concluded as he sprinkled itching powder in the neatly pressed dress Elaine's maid had laid out, he was only looking out for her.


	7. Chapter 7

**Title:** What Might Have Been  
**Characters/Pairings:** Morgana, Merlin  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 385  
**Summary:** A response to the sixth challenge: "Choose one major decision a character has made on the show, then have them choose a different path."  
**Notes:** Special thanks to Heather, Realta, Jaq, and EM on The Heart of Camelot for helping me edit this down! You guys are awesome.

* * *

"He's not going to survive out there," Morgana said as the crossbar fell into place behind Arthur.

He could already hear the sounds of fighting through the door, the clash of steel and the unearthly howls of the undead knights. "I know," he rasped, boneless with fatigue and the knowledge of what he must do.

"We've got to do something," Morgana continued desperately, and Merlin whispered, "I know," to the door, unable to face her. He was prepared to kill the traitorous witch the dragon kept warning him about, but he could hear no trace of her in Morgana's voice; he could only hear his friend, his dear friend who had fought for his village without being asked, who had helped him hide the druid boy despite the risks, and who had come to him only a few weeks before, confessing magic like a sin in that same terrified tone.

He couldn't do it, not when she was clearly unaware of her role in this. He had killed before, but never an innocent, and he couldn't begin with her.

"Merlin?" she asked tremulously when he didn't turn. "Merlin, are you still — _wake up,_ Merlin, I _need_ you, I can't do this on my own!"

With that, the last thread of his willpower snapped. The last time she had asked for his help he'd failed her, and he couldn't do so again. He would do whatever it took to save her.

"Morgana," he said hoarsely as the battle raged on. "Morgana, it's you. You're the source, that's why it isn't affecting you. It's not your magic, it's _you_. Morgause must've put a spell on you somehow, it's — Morgana?" he faltered, because she had gone white.

"She used me," Morgana said faintly, looking horrified. "She used — she asked me if I wanted to... But I never wanted _this!_" she burst out, finding some of her old spirit in her anger. "All of Camelot under attack, and Arthur — _Arthur's_ out there and it's _my fault_. Merlin. What do we _do?_"

And suddenly he knew exactly how to end this. "Tell her," he said, reaching into his pocket. "Tell her to call it off, or you'll stop her yourself."

And Morgana took the poison from his hand, and said without a tremor in her voice, "Let me at her."


	8. Chapter 8

**Title:** The Awakening  
**Characters/Pairings:** Shade!Lancelot, Gwen  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 298  
**Summary:** My _real_ response to the special challenge.  
**Notes:** On the Heart of Camelot, all the participants in this challenge signed up without knowing what the prompt was. Once signups closed, the prompt was posted: write a drabble for the person who signed up above you. I got my dear friend Heather, an avid Gwencelot shipper, so I came up with this one. She also accidentally gave me a crack-fic prompt involving Uther, but if you want to read that one... well, you'll have to join the Heart of Camelot. ;) Anyway, on to more serious matters.

* * *

The flaps of the tent whispered together as they closed behind Gwen, and Lancelot stared after her. He could still feel the heat of her presence beside him, still sense the weight of her hand in his, still see the look in her dark eyes as they stared into his. His mistress had told him that there had been an attraction between them, but he had not expected to feel _this_ — the spark that she had ignited within. At least, he would not have expected to feel anything if he'd been aware enough to know what an expectation was.

But now — now images were floating across his blank mind, images from a past life that was not quite his own anymore. And in all of these images, her face surfaced — looking sweetly up at him from where she knelt taking measurements for a deception that would earn him his original knighthood; peering through a grate with absolute faith shining in her eyes; turned towards him, inches away, having just broken apart from a kiss that he never wanted to end; watching him kneel to accept his true knighthood, glowing with pride and happiness.

The spark roared into a fire, and for one second, one glorious second, Lancelot _was_.

And then one last image flickered past, of her standing before him despite all their history and declaring her preference for another man. He had given his life because she'd asked, because he _loved her_—

Then anger roared through, the helpless rage of a spurned lover, and it opened the gate for another sort of fire to wash over him: the fire of his mistress' magic, white-hot with the revenge he now craved as much as she did.

And Lancelot faded into an echo once more, and felt nothing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Title:** A Random Episode  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon AU  
**Word Count:** 387  
**Summary:** A response to the seventh challenge: write a drabble based on your randomly assigned episode (in my case, _The Curse of Cornelius Sigan_).  
**Notes:** This was supposed to be a lot angrier, but alas. You get sad instead. xD Also, I think I might have violated the rules a bit, since this is set during _The Last Dragonlord_. Ah well.

* * *

If he moved his eyes from the frayed thread on his saddle, his grief would crack him open like an egg.

Merlin stared at the spot as if he could set it on fire with his eyes if he tried hard enough. He could. It would be easy; just a thought, and he could satisfy the need for destruction that had been burning within him since Balinor's death. He could hardly breathe from grief, but Arthur was riding just ahead of him and would hear if he showed it. Then he would press and press until Merlin buckled under the weight of his inquiry and his loss, and tell Arthur everything.

_He can't know. He can't know. He can't know,_ he thought, repeating it in his head like a gospel; but then it got all mixed up with guilt, and Merlin despaired. _I could've saved him, if he hadn't been there. I could've saved him. He can't know. He can't know. I could've saved my father. I could've—_

Desperately, Merlin tried to think of something else, anything else, and a memory pulled him in. "_But it must hurt so much to be so put-upon, so overlooked, when all the while you have so much power,_" Sigan said to him. "..._Join me. Together we can rule over this land. Arthur will tremble at your voice, he will kneel at your feet._"

He had been so repulsed by that idea then, but now — for a moment, just a moment — Merlin allowed himself to imagine what might have been. He would be free, with no secrets and lies to weigh him down. Morgana wouldn't have had to live in fear; he could have helped her, tutored her, and he never would've had to poison her and give her up to Morgause. Freya would never have died; maybe he could even have cured her, and they could have been together, and happy. He could have released the dragon in peace, and Camelot would have been safe.

And his father would still be alive.

"_It can be, if you join me_," whispered Sigan. "_It can be, it can be_."

But Sigan was wrong again. It couldn't be, not ever, because he had made his decision long ago and now he had to live with it.

And it was all his fault.


	10. Chapter 10

**Title:** Sunshine and Rainbows  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin, Arthur  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 240  
**Summary:** Response to the ninth drabble: Write something cheerful! No drama, no angst, no character conflict or frightening situations. Choose a sweet moment, a pleasant scenario or a happy ending and put a smile on all of our faces.  
**Notes:** My original reaction to this prompt was 'less than pleased' (y'all know how much I love angst), but then I remembered something that I saw on Tumblr and decided to roll with it. Cheers, everyone.

* * *

Arthur's face loomed over him as he lay on the ground and tried to stop the world from spinning. "Gods above, Merlin, I pity the woman who ends up with you."

"Do you, now?" Merlin said tightly, wriggling his fingers to make sure that they were all intact. He couldn't quite feel them — Arthur's last blow to his shield had made his entire arm go numb.

"I have never seen anyone who's so hopeless with a sword. A _blind woman_ would be better than you are — and that's what it's going to take for you to find someone," Arthur continued, watching him with absolutely no pity at all as he struggled to his feet.

"You'd be surprised," snapped Merlin, thinking back to Freya and — and — surely there was someone else? He couldn't really think straight at the moment, and he was sore all over, and Arthur looked like he was about to beat him again.

"Really?" Arthur snorted. "Some poor woman was deluded enough to fall for you? She must've been touched in the head."

"You know," said Merlin, and prepared to flee, "I think you're right. After all," he added, because Arthur's face lit up, "she married _you_ in the end."

A momentary pause, then — "What?" Arthur sputtered, dumbstruck.

"Don't worry, Arthur," Merlin said reassuringly as he dropped his shield and backed away. "I'm sure she'll come to her senses soon."

And then he ran for his life.

_"MERLIN!"_


	11. Chapter 11

**Title:** The Finer Details  
**Characters/Pairings:** Tristan  
**Rating/Warnings:** K+  
**Word Count:** 193  
**Summary:** Response to the eighth drabble: _Choose one of the Knights of Camelot and give him a unique personality quirk of your choosing. You can write this drabble about Gwaine, Lancelot, Percival, Leon or Elyan._ I know, I know, Tristan isn't on there. I DO WHAT I WANT. xD  
**Notes:** It's been speculated that Tristan is staying on as a knight, so I feel somewhat justified. Thanks to Heather for looking this over for me!

* * *

For as long as he could remember, Tristan had fought with a touch of gold in the corner of his eye.

He was always aware of where Isolde was in a skirmish. He would turn his head slightly and she would be there, partners for life, looking out for him with her long golden braid flying behind her. Then their eyes would catch and she would smile, bright and private and just for him, then turn away and fight like a hurricane.

But now she was gone.

He wished that he could forget her while he was fighting. He wanted to lose himself in the dance of swordplay, to drown himself in steel and blood and screams and forget that he had lost her. But every so often he would see a flash of gold, and his heart would stop and he would whip around to catch her smile, but it was only ever Arthur, the golden-haired king he had come to admire but would never stop resenting for allowing Isolde to die for him.

And so Tristan still saw gold on the battlefield, but it was never quite the same as before.


	12. Chapter 12

**Title:** The Loveliest Couple  
**Category:** Gen  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin/magic  
**Ratings/Warnings:** K  
**Word Count:** 270  
**Summary:** Response to the twelfth challenge: Choose the pairing you love the most, then write a drabble that captures the essence of why that couple appeals to you so much. If you don't have a definite favorite ship, please just choose a pairing you really like from the show.**  
**

* * *

From the moment of his existence she knew he was different.

There had been others before him, men and women both. Some were more considerate than others, and spent years giving attention to her every breath and movement before writing poems and treatises on her wild beauty in a delusion of understanding. But while their observations were revered as wisdom, she laughed and called them fools, because they claimed to know her while mistaking her surface for her core.

And it did not matter, in the end, how considerate they were. All of them took and took and _took_ and gave nothing back, not even gratitude, because to them she simply _was_, with no beginning and no end, no connections outside of them.

And it was so, so _lonely_.

But then he arrived, and she was saved.

He _saw_ her, whole and complete and raw. And she recognized him at once as one who asked rather than demanded, as one who saw the world as she did, bright and interconnected and one, and knew that she had been waiting for him since the dawn of time. And they understood one another so completely, so immediately, that she did not hesitate to bind his soul to hers and anchor him to her forever, because she was incomplete without him and he without her.

_I have found you_, she whispered as she brimmed beneath his skin, twining through his every cell. _Emrys_, she called him, and etched the name in his bones as she buried herself in his marrow. _I have found you_, she whispered. _And I will never let you go_.


	13. Chapter 13

**Title:** Magic Goes Awry  
**Characters/Pairings:** Balinor, Kilgarrah, Uther  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 395  
**Summary:** Response to the 16th drabble challenge: _Write about a character on the show using magic, with unexpected results. You can write about an incident that has already happened on the show, or you can come up with a magical mishap of your own._

* * *

"_O drakon, e male so ftengometta tesd'hup'anankes!_"

The crowd shuddered as his primal cry washed through their bones; beside him, Uther curled his lip in barely concealed disgust, but gave no other sign of his disapproval. "When will he arrive?" Uther asked almost disinterestedly; Balinor could hardly recall a single moment where the king had shown any reaction.

"Soon," Balinor said, already feeling the tug of the soul-bond in his mind and heart. And sure enough, it was only moments before they could hear wingbeats above the castle, and whispers rippled through the crowd as the dragon came into sight.

Kilgarrah landed, his golden eyes dimmed with the weight of sorrow, and he bowed as if to his inevitable fate. And Balinor bowed to him in return, in recognition of the unfathomable depths of his mourning, because while he too had felt the shockwaves of the deaths of his brethren — dragons and Dragonlords alike — his losses barely held a candle to the dragon's, because his life and pain were tiny and fleeting while Kilgarrah's was infinite, felt in the echoes of the past and the loneliness of the future.

"Balinor," the dragon rumbled wearily. "Why have you called me to this place?"

_Because of Uther's promise. Because if I did not agree they would hunt us both down. Because it is our last chance to survive._

"For peace," he answered instead, gesturing to Uther.

"_Peace!_" scoffed the dragon, and Balinor knew that it was only his command that prevented him from leaving. "You think there can be peace between us, after what he has done? After he slaughtered our kind and left the world in such unbalance? Are you so naive, Balinor, even after all you have seen?"

"He _swore_—"

Beside him, Uther smiled, sinister and obvious, and Balinor felt sick.

_What had he done?_

"Kilgarrah! Kilgarrah, go! _Æthlíep!_" he yelled, but it was too late — the guards sprung into action and threw a net of mail over Kilgarrah's wings to keep him grounded; the knights raised their shields against his fire, shields that were spelled against dragon flame, because above all else Uther was a hypocrite and a traitor, even to his own self. And there was such confusion, such noise, and in the midst of it Kilgarrah roared and struggled but could not fight his way free.

And Uther looked on, triumphant.


	14. Chapter 14

**Title:** Left  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin, Mordred  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 381  
**Summary:** Missing scene from 5x02. _**CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS.**_

* * *

Merlin could still feel the weight of the Euchdag's life as he trudged through the snow. It had shown him the way out of the tunnels — the proper way, not the way that he and Arthur had come in — and he had left it alone in the darkness again, the last of its kind, lonelier even than the dragon in its cave. He had left Morgana alone in the darkness as well, because he had tried saving her in the past and now she was beyond his help. And he had left Aithusa, though not for lack of trying; she would not come when he called, and he wondered again what had happened that would leave her so broken.

But what he could not understand was why _he_ had been left.

It was typical, he supposed, that once again he had been overlooked. As much as they needed him during a crisis (even if they didn't realize it), no one ever had much use for him in the downtime, except as a dogsbody and a slave. But to realize that not one person had looked around for him in the caves, that no one had spared a thought for his whereabouts - it burned him in a way that the little flames he had conjured into his palm for warmth never would.

"Halt! Identify yourself!"

"It's Merlin," he replied through gritted teeth, letting his fire go out.

"_Merlin!_" the same voice said, and Percival's face loomed out over an embankment. "Where've you _been_?"

"I was in the cave, where you _left me_," Merlin spat, and for once he allowed his fury to overwhelm him as he slipped through the snow into the campsite. "I was _right next to Arthur,_ like I _always_ am, how could you've—"

And it was then that he saw Mordred, hunched by the campfire and laughing with Leon, and it all came back to him in a rush. The concussion had made his eyes blur, but he had seen Mordred haul Arthur up and take him away, take him back to his knights and to safety. But first he had stopped for a second, his body twisted toward Merlin before he faded into darkness.

Mordred had left him.

And across the flames, Mordred met his eyes and smiled.


	15. Chapter 15

**Category:** Gen (Canon)  
**Characters:** Lochru  
**Rating:** T (descriptions of violence)  
**Word Count:** 350  
**Summary:** Response to the 14th challenge.  
**Notes:** _**contains spoilers for 5x01**_

* * *

He had foreseen his death years ago, but it still took him by surprise.

He awoke to the screams of his village and a sword through his belly, white-hot pain and red-hot blood, too much, far too much, spilling out of him and soaking in to his sheets, just like he had seen it all those years ago in a dream. But back then it had been just that — a dream, one that he knew would come true one day, _someday_, but someday had always been so far away, and a distant dream was no preparation for the sounds of a massacre and the breathless agony of dying.

He had seen this day, and he knew what it meant.

And as he coughed and choked on blood he prayed to the gods that the men outside killing women and children were wearing anything but Pendragon red, because then it would all be for naught. But he had no way of seeing that, no matter his powers, so the raiders outside remained nameless and faceless as they raped and pillaged and slaughtered, and slowly the village grew quiet until all he could hear was his own ragged breaths. He could not let himself dwell on the silence and all that it meant, or he would gladly give up his hold on life, and that would be the end of them all.

And it would not be long to wait now, for Emrys' arrival sent a battering ram of power against his senses.

_Emrys,_ he called. _Emrys._

He didn't have long now, and he allowed himself to rest until he felt a ghost-light touch against his wrist. _Emrys_, he thought, and opened his eyes to see the legend stooped over him, pale and tragic. He had never seen such sorrow and age in the eyes of one so young, and he had lived all his life amongst fugitives and orphans. Yet he needed to warn him, to add to the weight on his shoulders, or all would be lost.

_"I have been haunted by this moment for many years..."_


	16. Chapter 16

**Category:** Gen (Canon)  
**Characters:** Merlin  
**Rating:** K+  
**Word Count:** 363  
**Summary:** Merlin's thoughts while standing beside the Lake of Avalon.  
**Notes:** **contains spoilers for 5x13**

* * *

With shaking fingers, Merlin took up Excalibur and stood on the shores of Avalon.

_This sword can kill the undead_, he thought, as he had many times before; but never before had he been one of them, and for a moment his fingers curled more tightly around the hilt as he drew it up to look carefully at the blade that he had sharpened countless times for Arthur.

For Arthur. Always for Arthur. Except now—

He had no purpose anymore. He had built his entire life, his entire world around Arthur, and without him he was nothing. For all his powers, he had nothing to show except the body of his friend and a cavernous, all-consuming grief. And now he faced an eternity with that grief carving him hollow, that grief and a thousand other sorrows that immortality would bring — but with this blade in his hand he still had a chance to avoid that life, because he didn't know that he could handle it. He couldn't handle a world without Arthur in it, because he'd followed Arthur with every ounce of strength and magic and breath, and it wasn't right that he didn't follow him into death.

But then Arthur would be alone.

And he couldn't leave him to that fate. No, Arthur may have been strong — _will be_ strong, when he returned — but he had never been strong in that way. He had always needed the people he loved around him, had never been able to bear loneliness. But Merlin — Merlin had been bred to a life of solitude since magic first thrummed under his skin, had been living a life apart from the rest since before he could remember. He did not know what it was to have true companionship, not since Lancelot had died — the few moments that he had with Arthur over the past few days were not enough.

Arthur was not strong enough for such a life. But for Arthur, Merlin could do anything.

And so, as he had his entire life, as he would time and time again over the millennia, Merlin set aside his own pain and cloaked himself in loneliness, and cast Excalibur away.


	17. Chapter 17

**Category:** Gen (Canon AU)  
**Pairings/Characters:** Arthur  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Word Count:** 291  
**Summary:** Response to the 13th drabble challenge, Ink upon Parchment: _Compose a letter from one character to another. Feel free to write a serious message, a declaration of love, an angry rant or dire threat, or just something silly. Anything goes, as long as it's in the form of a letter._ I cheated a bit. If you can spot the Monty Python reference then you get a cookie.

* * *

_Timith of the Druids, 43. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Death._  
_Gareth Bates of Delwin, 17. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Death._  
_Deirdre of the Western Isles, 46. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Death._  
_Dennis Briton of Camelot, 37. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Death._  
_Tom Collins of Camelot, 34. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Death._  
_Aldred of the Druids, 30. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Death._  
_Ennis Cross of Camelot, 22. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Death._  
_Merlin of Ealdor, 29. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence:_

Arthur stared at the last line of the court records. Its hundreds of pages were filled with 30 years' worth of entries, all ending the exact same way: death. It was law, and the law bent for no man. And yet the name at the beginning of this one...

It had been three days since Merlin's secret had been discovered — three days in which to expose a decade of lies, to reveal the true nature of his servant. This betrayal had cut deeper than Uther's, than Agravaine's, deeper even than Morgana's; his entire world had been turned on its head. And yet...

And yet... this was Merlin. Merlin, who had never left his side, not for anything. Merlin, who had ridden out to face a dragon with him, unarmed and — well, clearly not as defenseless as Arthur had thought. Merlin, who really had saved his life as many times as he'd claimed — and more.

He was still angry. Oh, three days was far too short a time for that to dissipate. But even in his anger he knew that following the precedent of years past would be a mistake that he would regret forever.

Finally, he lifted his hand and wrote a single word.

_Merlin of Ealdor, 29. Crime: Sorcery. Sentence: Pardoned._

And with that, the book was closed forever.


	18. Chapter 18

**Category:** Gen (Canon)  
**Characters:** Merlin, Balinor  
**Rating:** K  
**Word Count: **310  
**Summary:** A missing moment from 2x13.

* * *

Gaius wasn't back yet; he wouldn't be for a while, but Merlin shut his door to keep him out all the same. He hadn't yet had a moment to himself to allow his grief to spill out unchecked, the grief that was threatening to crush the air from his lungs and set his chest afire. But now he had time before they were to ride out to face the Great Dragon, time enough to curl into his bed and contemplate the little one his father had carved for him.

His fingers traced the rough lines left by his father's knife even as his mind's eye traced the careful motions of his father's hands in his memory. Last night while they'd talked of the future and the past, he'd thought that Balinor had merely sought to keep his hands busy, but then he'd seen that it was a way for the reticent man to show that he cared.

He cared. He'd cared. He'd—

And he always would have cared, if only he'd known. Merlin had told Arthur if a distant memory, made of only the vaguest impressions — the smell of earth and a wet woollen shirt, the rumble of a low chuckle that hummed through his bones, an overwhelming sense of security in an embrace, the feel of another's heartbeat.

But it wasn't real, and never had been; his father had made it clear that he had never been aware of Merlin's existence, and so the only time he'd ever held him close was while he was dying. The memory that had brought him comfort during the darkest moments of his bastard life was nothing more than a dream, and now he had been robbed of it, just as he'd been robbed of his father, and all he had left was a little wooden dragon and fewer memories than he'd thought.


	19. Chapter 19

**Category:** Gen (Canon)  
**Characters:** Merlin, Gwaine  
**Rating:** K  
**Word Count:** 313  
**Summary:** Gwaine's actions toward Merlin in 4x08 have deeper implications than they would seem.

* * *

At first Merlin had been glad that it was Gwaine who was left to guard them.

Gwaine was changed, of course — he had fallen under Lamia's spell, sure as the rest of them — but Merlin knew him best of all the knights; they were friends, far more than he and Leon or Percival, and perhaps this, more than logic or reason, would allow him to break through the violent haze and get through to Gwaine.

But now, pleading with him not to go out into the darkness, Merlin realized the flaw in this thinking, because friendship was a two-way street, and not always a safe one. For Gwaine knew him best, too — not as well as Lancelot had, of course, because his greatest secret was still hidden — but now all the other secrets and fears that he'd confessed over late-night drinks in the tavern were being used against him.

And as Merlin flinched away from the torch that Gwaine brandished in his face, he could not meet his friend's eyes, his changed, malevolent eyes, because in them he knew he would find a certain perverse glee, because in one of their outings Merlin had told him of his fear of burning, of his nightmares of death by fire. _He knew,_ Merlin thought numbly as Gwaine strode away into the gloom. _He knew, and yet—_

And yet still he'd done it, which made Merlin think that there was more at work than simple mind control. Lamia had stripped away the veneer of civility and tapped into the pit of cruelty that lay at the heart of every man. Gwaine's actions had not been those of a man under enchantment — they were calculated, personal, designed to strike hard at Merlin's weakest point and break him in a way that only a friend could.

And that, Merlin realized sadly, was far harder to forgive.


	20. Chapter 20

**Title:** The Hunted  
**Characters/Pairings:** Mithian, Merlin  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 223  
**Summary:** Mithian remembers a conversation that she had with Merlin in a whole different light.  
**Notes:** I've always thought there was another message beneath their conversation, and so I decided to eliminate the 'sub' in 'subtext.' xD

* * *

_"What sport is it when one side has dogs and spears and crossbows and the other nothing?"_

Those words had staggered her momentarily, though she hid it well and recovered quickly. It was not the wisdom behind the words that had thrown her off balance so much as the emotion: the deep sadness in his voice, the haunted hollowness in his eyes. At the time she thought it strange but passed it off as the odd sympathy of a soft heart.

It was not until much later that she realized that it was not sympathy but understanding. Word had reached Nemeth of the lifting of the magic ban, of the end of the age of tyranny due to the powerful sorcerer who had stood behind the golden king for years, driving away the shadows until finally he could step into the light.

And she remembered how those shadows had reached his eyes that day, because how could Merlin not understand, having lived all his life as one of the hunted? Sorcerers were not exactly equipped with 'nothing,' but dogs and spears and crossbows worked on them all the same.

And though that tme was over and done that did not change the fact that it had happened, and so the next time her brothers proposed a hunt, Mithian thought of Merlin and shuddered.


	21. Chapter 21

**Title:** Dorocha  
**Characters/Pairings:** Merlin, Arthur  
**Rating/Warnings:** K  
**Universe:** Canon  
**Word Count:** 397  
**Summary:** Exploration of a moment in 4x01.

* * *

The last tatters of Merlin's false humor were carried away by the screams of a passing Dorocha, and as the sound faded he saw that it was the same with Arthur.

"You're not scared?" he asked hoarsely.

"Oh, I am, Merlin," Arthur answered, and in the quiet of his voice Merlin heard fear and doubt and truth. And perhaps he hoped to lighten the mood, perhaps he really meant it — Merlin never truly knew where he stood, never truly knew if Arthur thought him craven after all he'd done — Arthur added, "Maybe more than you."

But that — maybe for the first time — was wrong. Merlin may have been frightened in the past, may have exaggerated his fear to hide the confidence that magic gave him, but now... now his magic was gone, and for the first time in his life Merlin knew true terror, a terror that was separate and distinct from the fear that came of the constant threat of execution: the terror of being powerless.

In the village, when his light had gone out, it felt as if there were a cavernous hole in his core, a hollowed-out place where his magic usually resided but had now vacated, leaving behind tattered edges and a yawning emptiness that threatened to consume him with every breath he took of the darkness. The Dorocha tainted the very air around them and Merlin could hardly breathe for the chill they left behind, one that was not physical but ethereal, one that sank into his bones and turned his soul to ice. No one else seemed to notice except when the spirits were especially close, but he could feel it every second of the long, black night, and there was nothing that he could do to drive it away, no fire that he could conjure to drive off this evil, because around those spirits his magic had been frozen and ripped away, and for the first time in his life, Merlin was defenseless.

And that terrified him more than any foe he'd ever faced — more than darkness, more than death. It terrified him because he knew that in the end he'd face the Dorocha all the same, and if he failed then he would die empty and hollowed and alone. And so this time, of all times, he knew that Arthur lied, because he at least would die whole.


End file.
